


A Burden Shared

by Glau (Glaucus_Atlanticus)



Series: Link and Malon [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Allusions to Trauma, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Not overtly Linked Universe but fits the characters and setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24342025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glaucus_Atlanticus/pseuds/Glau
Summary: The traveler smiles faintly, and strokes Epona’s neck. Malon softens a little towards him. Kindness to animals is no guarantee of a man’s character, but it’s still a mark in his favor.“So how’d you meet her?” she asks.He jerks up, hand going still. He’s not outright tense, but his blue eyes are watching her carefully. He doesn’t speak.“I gave that horse to a good friend of mine,” she says, keeping her tone light. “I wonder if you know him?”
Relationships: Link/Malon (Legend of Zelda)
Series: Link and Malon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757593
Comments: 29
Kudos: 251





	A Burden Shared

“It’s not right,” Jungen says, gold-ringed hand splayed against the table. “A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be coming home dirty and calloused.”

Malon laces her fingers more tightly, and sits very straight in her seat.

“You’re very kind, Mr. Jungen. Were you wanting a dairy or horse order?”

The merchant winks at her and leans in. “Actually, I was most interested in _your_ welfare, my dear. It’s so much work running a farm without a husband. You must never get a day off.”

“We manage,” she says, false smile burning on her face.

Jungen slides her an envelope across the cherry-wood.

“For your trouble,” he says.

She already knows what’s inside.

“I’m sorry.” She stands up, and hands it back. “I can’t accept this.”

“You haven’t even opened it.”

“My father is very strict,” she lies. “If that’s all your business here, then I won’t waste your time.”

Jungen is frowning now, and he hovers too close as she leads him to the door.

“Selfish of him,” he says, laying an arm across her shoulders.

She opens the door, and doesn’t miss the way his hungry eyes sweep over the pastures and the frog pond. He presses the envelope to her chest, and she wants to wash her shirt.

She steps on Jungen’s foot, and he curses in a language she isn’t supposed to know.

“So sorry,” she says, smiling sweetly. “I’m not so graceful as you are, sir. Must be my crude farmgirl upbringing.”

“My offer stands,” he says, and finally he leaves.

She closes the door with one hand, holding the envelope out with the other. Caution wars with pragmatism. Pragmatism argues that they could buy medicine for the mare that won’t eat. Caution points out that Jungen could return, and if she doesn’t have the money ready when rejecting him, he could call her a thief.

Caution wins.

She slips the envelope into a secret compartment in the kitchen wall, the one her father doesn’t know about, next to her other suitors’ mildewed letters.

* * *

She’s driving the wagon towards Castle Town, a week’s shipment of milk and beef packed in ice behind her, when she spots a hooded man on horseback further down the road. He’s armed with a sword and shield. A fighter. And he’s headed her way.

Her hands tighten on the reins. It’s been years since bandits haunted the Hyrule Plains, but there aren’t many good men who carry swords, either. She reaches toward the whip at her side in case she needs to spur Cabella and Dazi faster.

As they near each other on the road, the man directs his horse off the path to give her right of way. He doesn’t wave or call to her. She’s about to pass him by, when she catches sight of the mare’s braided mane.

She halts the wagon. “Epona?”

The man’s eyes widen. He looks vaguely familiar, but Epona is unmistakable. Her hair gleams silver in the morning light, and her chestnut coat looks like satin. Whatever else the man is, he’s been taking good care of her.

He’s light-skinned, a little shorter than average, and still hasn’t spoken a word. He’s staring at her like he’s never seen a woman before.

She tries a smile. “Hi. I’m Malon, of Lon Lon Ranch. That’s Epona, isn’t it?”

He nods. A fine conversationalist.

Malon tries again. “She was actually born at our ranch.”

The man looks away. His hand pats lightly at Epona’s neck, and Malon suspects it’s more to comfort himself than the horse.

“Malon?”

Aha, so he does speak. “Yes?”

“How’s the ranch doing?”

His voice is a little rough, like he hasn’t used it in a long time. He’s still not looking at her.

It’s a strange question from a strange man. But despite her better judgment, Malon’s always been intrigued by strange things.

“Business is good,” she says. “We’ve been getting orders all the way from Kakariko. It’s because we never water down our milk, so customers know it’s the real deal.”

Never miss the chance to pitch a sale, as her mother would’ve said.

The man nods. “What about the horses?”

“All hearty and well. If you like Epona, they’re the same stock. But better behaved.”

He smiles faintly, and strokes Epona’s neck again. “I’m glad they’re alright.”

Malon softens a little towards him. Kindness to animals is no guarantee of a man’s character, but it’s still a mark in his favor.

“So how’d you meet her?” she asks.

He jerks up, hand going still. He’s not outright tense, but his blue eyes are watching her carefully. He doesn’t speak.

“I gave that horse to a good friend of mine,” she says, keeping her tone light. “I wonder if you know him?”

He nods, and before Malon can press him on it, he’s pulling the hood down, and Malon knows him now.

She lets go of the reins completely. “Fairy-boy!”

For a second he looks like she’s slapped him. Then he blinks, and the expression is gone.

“Hey,” is all he says.

She mentally files away the reaction, and recalls his real name is Link, even as she’s scrambling forward to get a better look.

“It’s been years! Where were you?”

He shrugs. “Around.”

“What’ve you been doing? Do you have the day to spare? You should come by the ranch, Dad would love to see you. And to see Epona.”

He smiles, almost imperceptibly, and looks toward Epona again.

“I’d like that.”

* * *

She drops a frying pan, and Link tries to draw a sword that isn’t there.

“It’s alright!” she’s learned to say immediately.

He’s already spun around from restocking the pantry, brandishing a mop that she thought was on the other side of the kitchen. He’s got one foot back for balance, and if any cookware attacks she’ll surely be well-defended.

“It was an accident,” she says, voice soft. “I’m alright.”

Link’s eyes dart from her to the floor. There’s a scuff on the wood where the cast-iron hit it, but it wasn’t even hot. He blinks several times, and leans the mop against the wall, though his movements are still jerky.

Well, jerkier than usual.

She hadn’t _meant_ for him to stay with them. The first night was just hospitality, same as she and her father would give any other guest. The next day, he’d seen Talon struggling to repair a trough, and he’d volunteered to help. Then it had been hammering in fence posts. One night had turned into two, and two into three, and now it’s been two weeks.

Not that she’s complaining. There’s always work to be done on a ranch, and it’s nice to have a strong man around who isn’t trying to grab the business—or her—for himself.

“Done,” Link says, closing the pantry door.

“Thank you. Can you bring the horses in for the night? Dinner should be ready by the time you’re back.”

His shoulders relax a little, and then he’s out the door. A part of her heart twinges. Before, she was the one who led the horses back to their stalls, checked them over for bug bites and rocks in their hooves, and spoke softly to each one in turn. But Link is calmest when he’s with Epona, and frankly, he needs it more than Malon does.

She’s not quite sure what happened to him, or if it has anything to do with his fairy’s disappearance from his side. He’s clearly been in danger, but she can’t imagine what. He sleeps badly, like she does, and half the time when she’s up to grab a cup of milk in the middle of the night, there’ll be a flicker of light from the guest-room.

On other nights, the guest-room will be empty. At first she thought he’d vanished again, like he did so many years ago, and she ran out of the house begging the gods to let her say good-bye. She was frozen on the front porch, fearful to go any further, when he called to her from the roof of the barn. He’d asked if she was alright. As if camping out atop a barn in the dead of night was normal.

Oh, and he’d brought a bow, arrows and sword up there with him.

Malon shakes her head, and chops the onions and carrots on the cutting-board. It’s selfish of her, but she doesn’t mind the barn-sitting. It means someone’s prepared to defend them, in case…

Her wrist trembles, and the knife knicks the tip of her finger. She winces, washes and bandages it, and carries on.

Well, he’s prepared, just in case.

* * *

She never used to go out in the fields at night. Not after what happened to Mom. But she can’t leave Link out there alone, either. He may carry a bow—and is probably a darn good shot—but for once, it’s not the lights in the sky that worry her. When she can’t sleep, she takes to spending an hour atop the barn-roof with him.

Link reminds her of how she used to be, half in and half out of this world. He glances over his shoulder at the sky when he thinks no one is watching. He makes excuses to spend time with the horses when people are too much for him. It’s a good thing her father’s seen it before, and knows not to push.

* * *

Four months in, he tells her, and Malon’s world is turned upside-down.

The lights in the sky were real. He’s seen them take cows, take _people._ It gives her a sickening combination of relief and nausea. Relief, because she wasn’t imagining things, no matter what anybody else said. Nausea, because her last memories of her mother are true.

They’re atop the barn-roof, clutched in each other’s arms, and the stars above them are thankfully unmoving. Link’s holding her like he’s scared she’ll float away if he lets go. She sighs, eyes closed against his shoulder.

It’s not just the lights, either. He really did have a fairy when they were kids. He’s fought in battles no child should have to see. There are a _lot_ of unbelievable things in his story, but Malon knows what it’s like to not be believed.

“So you rescued the Zora princess,” she asks him the next day, “and then you went back in time?”

He rakes another sweep of dried hay into the pile. “No, that was in this time. The Jabu-Jabu thing was—”

He stops raking. His eyes fixate on a dandelion in the grass, but he isn’t really looking at it.

“No,” he says. “It happened here, but then it didn’t anymore.” He rubs his forehead. “Sorry, that’s about as clear as mud.”

She shrugs. “It’s alright.”

And it should be, because it didn’t take him as long to come back to himself this time. She should be happy that he can talk about it now. She should _not_ be wondering whether a beautiful Zora princess will show up at the ranch one day, crown him king, and then she’ll never see him again.

The ranch is large, but it’s a little part of a big world, and life is the same here from one day to the next. Link has been to the moon and back. He’s fought demons, commanded the dead, freed the gods themselves. When he saw all of Hyrule, he moved on to Termina, and when he’d done everything in Termina he moved on again.

One day, he’ll have done everything there is to do at Lon Lon Ranch, too. And Malon can’t offer him a crown.

* * *

When she spots the candlelight under his door, she hesitates. On nights like this he’s better, can hold onto himself more, and even on bad nights he’ll try for her sake. But her problems seem so small now compared to his.

She’s standing in the hall, still debating, when the door to his room swings open. One of these days she’ll figure out how he catches her.

“Mind the floor,” is all he says, and stands aside.

The floor of the guest-room—his room, really—is covered in masks and hats. They’re neatly laid out according to some scheme she can’t identify, old but well cared-for. She takes a seat in the corner of the room that’s still clear.

“Castle Town?” she asks.

He sits down beside her. “Termina.”

Malon goes still. He speaks of Termina even less often than he speaks about the rest of his past, and only ever while atop the barn, hands clenched tight around his bow. Right now his posture seems relaxed, but his face is hard to read.

“You can touch them,” he says, twirling a bird-like cap in his hands. “But don’t put on the ones on the right.”

She studies them. A Deku scrub, a Goron, a Zora, and...one that looked like Link’s face, but with different colors? Aha.

“The spirits,” she recalls, and he nods.

She reaches, hesitantly, for a frog-shaped hat that looks far too cute to have come from his worst year. It’s an unusual toy for a grown man to have held onto. But it must be meaningful to him, and she’s glad for it. She sets it back down, and examines each of the other masks laid out, excepting the ones on the far right.

“So,” he says after a few minutes of silence, “what kept you up?”

Her hands trace lightly over the hair of the fairy-shaped mask, bright hair reminding her of her mother’s.

“Mom.”

He shifts a little beside her. “Ah.”

She turns the mask over, and over again. It’s not a very good likeness of a fairy, or at least she hopes it isn’t.

In a few days, it’ll be the anniversary of _that_ night. Malon’s gotten good at not thinking about it. But at this time of year, it’s hard not to.

“She’s dead,” Malon says. “If she’s lucky.”

Link sets down a mask that looks like a rock, a shadow falling over his face. Great going, Malon. He’d actually been doing well for once, and she’s ruined it.

“Sorry,” she says, and rubs her eyes before they can betray her.

“Hey.” He lays a hand over hers. “Tell me about her?”

It’s a sweet gesture, and more than most people would do. But if she starts now, she might not be able to stop, and she doesn’t need her father worrying about her red-rimmed eyes tomorrow.

“Distract me.”

He nods, and picks up a mask shaped like a fox. “Once upon a time, there was a boy who went out in a fox mask...”

Head against his shoulder, she listens to a story that weaves through magical curses and mysterious letters, through thieves and masks and star-crossed lovers. He talks about a woman who feared being abandoned by the man she loved, and a man who wished to reach out but didn’t know how.

It’s a good distraction from her mother. But it also reminds her of how easily Link could disappear, and Malon isn’t as patient as the woman from Termina. No, if Malon were to fall in love, she’d want Link to communicate with her properly, not—

She stiffens, and is suddenly aware of how close they’re sitting. Her shoulders fit snugly under his arm, and his smile is warm in the flickering candlelight.

Oh. Oh dear.

He smells like hay and cedar, and Malon might be in trouble.

* * *

The anniversary comes, and she spends it trying not to think. She makes a full Hyrulean breakfast instead of the leftovers they usually eat, scrubs the floors even though it’s Link’s turn, and polishes every piece of furniture and silverware in the house. She didn’t tell Link what today meant, but he takes over her other chores without being asked, so she doesn’t have to go outside.

At least, not until afternoon, when his head pops into the dining room.

“Can I show you something?”

Malon looks up from touching up a cabinet. His fingers are jittery on the doorframe, but there’s a spark in his eye she hasn’t seen in a long time. The cabinet can wait.

He takes her out to the pond, and pulls the frog hat over his head. It’s too small for him, and the frog legs dangle in his face.

“Right, where’s the—” He yanks the hat back off, and mutters, “Stick first, _then_ the hat.”

Malon’s mouth twitches. “You can’t actually see out of it?”

“I can see,” he insists, stepping up to the water’s edge. “It’s just that it’s all green and froggy.”

“So basically, you can’t see.”

He huffs, and retrieves a fallen twig. The hat goes back on. He faces the pond, clears his throat, and twirls the stick with as much gravitas as a man can have while wearing a giant frog toy on his head. She’s about to tease him when the frogs actually line up on the lily pads in front of them.

“You’re joking,” she says.

“These are serious frog artists,” he says with a straight face. “If you’re rude you’ll make them self-conscious.”

If it wasn’t her turn to do the laundry she’d shove him into the pond.

He raises the stick, and it trembles slightly in his hand. The frogs really do follow his lead. Each one croaks a different note as he conducts. It’s only a few bars, but the melody is clear, and Malon finds herself staring into the water.

“That’s Epona’s song,” she says, a small lump forming in her throat.

The notes come to a slow halt. His arm drifts downward, and she hears him take a deep breath.

“When we were kids,” he starts, voice quiet, “you said your mother composed it.”

She nods, but doesn’t look up.

“So I thought,” he says, “if I taught it to the frogs, then maybe the ranch could remember part of her, even when you’re not here.”

It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous and sweet and it makes her heart hurt in a good way, and then there’s hot tears running down her cheeks.

“Are you...?” His voice wavers. “Oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

She’s shaking with emotions held back for far too long. The last thing she needs is to swoon like a precious city-girl, so she hikes up her skirt and sits down in the grass. There’s a soft rustle as Link sits beside her, but it’s barely audible over his apologies.

“I should’ve asked first,” he mutters to himself. “Stupid, stupid...”

It’s not stupid. She wipes her eyes and starts to tell him that, but stops short when she takes another look at him. The frog hat is clearly _not_ meant to fit an adult. It has legs coming down over his eyes. In fact, it looks like a big frog decided to camp out on Link’s head and obscure his vision as much as possible, like the world’s least helpful version of a fairy guide.

Maybe it’s that she’s tired after a long day, or has too many feelings right now, but she can’t stop herself from laughing.

“Malon?”

He peels one of the legs off his eye, blinking in bewilderment, and that just makes her laugh harder.

“Link, I—”

She’s not even sure where to start. It’s not just the frogs. It’s not just that he wants to honor her mom. It’s that he believed her when nobody else did, and he stays up watching for the lights, he trusts her to know the farm inside and out, and it’s that he always gives her room to be herself, even if herself is weird or sad or not very feminine sometimes.

It’s that he’ll put on a stupid frog hat and spend god knows how long teaching the frogs to sing, just to make her smile.

He’s glaring down at the hat now, wringing the felt in his hands like it’s personally victimized him. His hair is sticking up at odd angles where the legs caught on it. It’s ridiculous, and she might start giggling again. She leans toward him, hand raised to smooth his fringe back down, but he turns his head at the last second and her fingers land on his cheek instead.

For a moment, they’re just looking at each other.

Malon kisses him.

He tenses up, hand coming to rest on her shoulder. She starts to withdraw, fearing she’s misread him in the worst possible way, but then he’s pulling her closer and his other hand is tracing angel-touches through her hair.

He’s a tentative kisser, careful and light, like an explorer in uncharted territory. It’s almost too gentle. Too achingly slow after six months of living with him. But there’s a truth in those touches that she’s never felt from other men, a desire not just to _have_ but to _understand,_ and to understand her body as well as he knows her mind _._ It’s better than any love-letter she’s ever gotten. It makes her want.

It’s a warm autumn night, and the stars are twinkling above them. Neither of them has any weapons. But Link’s arms are steady around her, and if she listens closely she can almost hear her mother’s name in the frog-croaks beside them.

* * *

The next morning, Malon wonders what the hell she was thinking.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with Link. The question is what’s wrong with _her,_ that she’d let her foolish maiden heart get carried away like that. She’s been left behind too many times already, by men who didn’t have worlds to save and princesses to charm.

She finds him in the kitchen, humming, as he chops up lunch for himself, her, and her father. He knows where everything is now, movements smooth like he belongs here, like it won’t slowly suffocate him to stay.

“Hey,” she says, and internally winces at herself.

He glances over his shoulder, and the smile he gives her is almost enough to break her resolve.

“Good morning,” he says. The smile fades. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing!” she says automatically. “No. I mean. Nothing big.”

The knife goes still in his hand, and he half-turns to face her—not enough to put her on the spot, but enough so she isn’t interrupting. Her chest is tight, but there’s nothing else for it but to talk.

“Are you going to stay?”

He blinks. “Well, there was that delivery in Kakariko today, so I was thinking—”

“No,” she says. “Are you going to keep living here?”

His eyes widen, then cast away from her, and the feeling in her chest gets worse.

“Do you want me to?”

She shrugs, and tries to keep her voice light. “Well, I don’t want to hold you back.”

“Hold me back from what?”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” She waves a hand vaguely. “Traveling the world. Royalty, magic, gods and demons. Exciting things.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve had enough excitement for a lifetime.”

“I just worry that it might get a little boring for you.”

Link gives her the most baffled look she’s ever seen.

“Bored of _you?”_

The sentence practically stabs her, and oh, _this_ was what she really feared, wasn’t it? That at the end of the day, he was a hero, and she was just a dumb farmgirl who couldn’t quite get the mud out of her socks.

The knife clatters on the counter. His arms wrap around her, and he squeezes her tight this time.

“I’m going to tell you another story,” he says. “About a boy who had no idea what he was doing, or who he was, and probably would have broken if not for a very patient and sensible girl.”

That’s hard to believe, but she’s not about to stop him. She tucks her head against his shoulder, and hugs back.

“I traveled everywhere, because I didn’t have a home. I did all those things because the world was falling apart, and _somebody_ had to do something. And I hope I never have to do any of that again.”

She thinks back to the frog hat. “Not even the good parts?”

He hums, thoughtful.

“There were some good parts,” he admits. “But they’d be better if I could share them with someone else.”

Her cheeks warm, and a little spark emerges in her chest.

“Someone who likes strange things,” he says. “But who won’t get overwhelmed by them. Who’s got her head screwed on right.”

A tiny smile is twitching at her lips now. “Who won’t panic if a Zora princess shows up asking about her fiance?”

He cringes like she’s dumped a bucket of ice water over him, and lets out a pained noise.

“If that happens, _hide me.”_

“Sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. “So does this mean you’re staying?”

It takes a moment for him to compose himself. He takes a deep breath, and lets it out.

“Yeah.” His voice is soft, but he doesn’t look away. “I’d like that.”

She beams, reaches up to hug him once again, and this time he doesn’t hesitate to return it. It’s firmer than their first, but not urgent or worried like the second. It’s the kind that feels like they fit together. She whispers a single word to the side of his neck.

“ _Stay.”_


End file.
